


Falling

by thestarsaregivenonceonly



Category: Timmy Chalamet, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom, chalamet, tim chalamet, timothee
Genre: F/M, falling, lyrics, song blurb, timothee blurb, timothee chalamet blurb, timothee chalamet drabble, timothee chalamet imagine, timothee drabble, timothee imagine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsaregivenonceonly/pseuds/thestarsaregivenonceonly
Summary: Based on Falling by Harry styles
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Original Female Character(s), Timothée Chalamet/Reader, timothee chalamet x reader, timothee x reader, timothee/reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr same username xx

He wasn’t okay. He pretended every day, filming and stepping into the roles of other human beings, wanting desperately to be someone else, to feel someone else’s pain and sorrow. This was too much, and he was falling. Tim kept telling himself, she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone. It didn’t matter. He hoped, he longed for you, he missed you. 

You weren’t okay. Every day was years long, the sun taunting you and remaining in the sky longer than you could ever imagine, teasing the relief of nighttime and the passing of another day. Time would heal the wound, time would make it better. Each day you rose without feeling, empty and void of life, of him. As the reality of your life began to sink in, the day grew painful, an ache in your chest, dull and constant. No drugs, no drinks, nothing could feel the hole inside of you. You hoped, you longed for him, you missed him. 

Late February, the chill of the air seeping into his bones as he made his way through the streets of New York, head down, praying he wouldn’t be noticed. Not now. He swerved right and left through the passing pedestrians, mind on you and only you. Timmy walked faster, unsure of what he was running from, carrying your heart in his pocket as he moved along. His heart felt hollow without your presence, and he suddenly felt the need to push back tears, unwilling to lose his composure in public. There was a constant ache in his chest too, a dull reminder that you weren’t there in his bed. He’d roll onto his back and stare at the ceiling, soaking in the patterns, wondering if it looked the same as it did when you were there. 

It didn’t. 

Nights were never ending for you, falling into black depths and counting minutes as they passed, begging time to move faster. You dreamt of rooms full of clocks showing different times, where am I, how did I get here? Your clothing felt heavy, soaked with water that wasn’t there, weight on your back. 

He dreamt of you every night, your touch melting into his dreams like wax dripping from a candle. He could taste your skin, feel the way your breathing sped up as he kissed down your stomach. It haunted him, it crept into his days. Everywhere, you were everywhere. On every street corner, behind every door, walking amidst every crowd. He searched for you fruitlessly, feeling a magnetic pull, knowing you were out there somewhere. 

You sunk into the mattress, feeling it creak beneath you as it spoke your sorrows. Waves,  
the middle of the ocean with no one to hear your cries, pulling you under into nothingness. His shadow replaced your own. His mouth was in every shade of pink, his eyes in the lush world around you, the flush of his cheeks and the red of lust flashing through your vision. Every day was like walking uphill, steeper and steeper until you were out of breath and tumbling backwards to land in rock bottom again. 

His career slipped, and people talked. He didn’t take on new roles, his hollow passions driving him to insanity. He wished on every star, every eyelash, every beautiful sight, to get a glimpse of you again, even just a passing glance. He smoked too many joints, the burn in his lungs the only sweet relief to escape the ache. He drank in too many bars until the world tilted and you were behind every pair of eyes. He stumbled and fell, he stood, he wanted to take back all of the words he never meant to say to you. 

You cried, you sobbed, the tears causing your body to quake. Every one belonged to him, every one reflected a memory. His laugh, the taste of him after too many drinks, the feel of his hair, the soft skin inside his wrist. They were falling, seeping into your skin where you prayed they were working to heal your wounds. Long, hot baths that soothed your muscles and echoed your isolation. The bathroom was darker, it was huge and empty without him. You rolled onto your stomach and held your breath for a long time, wanting to feel anything but this longing for him that never, ever ceased. 

He stood alone in the shower with his head bowed, thinking about the last time that you made love. It had been normal and innocent until the cinnamon sugar soap, a bite to the skin and you were making out against the tiles. Hands through his hair, he cleaned his body three times, feeling dirtier and more exposed than ever. Looking at the ceiling, reminded again that without you it wasn’t the same, he begged out loud for help, asking the Gods to send him anyone, Lord send me anyone. He turned further inward when they wanted to help, you aren’t her, you cannot fix me. He couldn’t stand to be on his own, he couldn’t stand to be alone with himself. He refused to acknowledge his own presence, burying himself in other characters and traveling all over the world. The fountains ignored his wishes. 

2:27. Your phone began to ding into the night, the screen lighting up the room. He prayed you wouldn’t answer, wanting only to leave a message, apologize, beg for something, anything. You rolled over and stared at the screen, arguing with yourself before holding the phone up to your ear. 

“Hello?”

“Fuck!”

“What?”

He sighed heavily, and you could feel his sadness through the phone. It was dark and heavy, storm clouds threatening rain and destruction. 

“I was hoping you were asleep. I’m sorry for waking you.” 

His voice. Knives in your heart, you could see him next to you with pale moonlight shining on his skin. 

“I was awake.” 

“It’s not my business to ask and you can tell me to fuck off but... why?” 

Descending further and further into a black hole, you sat up slowly and closed your eyes. 

“Same reason as you.” 

Silence, pregnant and overflowing. He was breathing heavily, and you allowed the sound to wash over you. Your whole body ached and throbbed. 

“Is it unfair of me to call you?”

“Maybe. But I’m not mad.”

“Really?”

“I can’t be mad at you. I feel whole for the first time in months hearing your voice.” 

He inhaled sharply, coughing away a sob. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are.” You longed to touch him, and you reached out into the empty air, squeezing your fingers shut. 

“I’m trying to heal but I don’t know how.” 

“Some wounds don’t heal.”

“I want to take your pain away.” 

“You can’t.”

More silence, and then you heard him crying softly into the phone. It happened then and there, your heart slowly breaking into pieces. Allowing him the final moments, giving him one last part of you, you listened to him crying. It grew louder for a moment before slowly quieting. He sniffed and cleared his throat, and you waited. 

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He sobbed again, cussing loudly, his voice ringing in your ears as you lowered the phone and hung up.


	2. taking chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy asks for another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr same username xx

It was pouring. The rain slammed against your apartment windows, a warning you didn’t miss. The atmosphere felt electric, though there was no lightning. You moved slowly about your apartment wrapped in a blanket, molasses in the cold, barely able to take a step. Something was coming, and when it came, you realized you had been expecting him all along. 

A knock at the door. 

Who am I now? Who are you? What have we done to each other?

You stared at the door for a moment, trying to prepare yourself. You had given him everything and more, so why was he here? You wanted to slam the door in his face and run, hide somewhere from the oncoming destruction.

But you were still in love with him. And there was no way you’d ever be able to say no. 

Opening the door, you stared at him, drinking in the sight with thirst. He was soaked to the bone, long curls stuck to his forehead, eyes wild with anxiety. Your stomach promptly fell out of your ass, a feeling you hadn’t entirely been expecting. Timmy looked hollow, cheeks sunken in and jawline sharper than ever. Somehow he had gotten skinnier, and it made your heart ache. 

“Why aren’t you eating, Timothée?” 

He blinked several times, the words soaking in slowly. “What?”

“You’re so thin.” You stepped back to allow him into your heart again, telling yourself that it was the last time and knowing it was bullshit. 

“I can’t eat.” 

“Neither can I.”

He moved into your home and you shut the door behind him, sighing quietly. Turning to face him, you walked around him with a little more energy into the kitchen to prepare cups of hot chocolate. 

“Do you by chance still have any of my clothes?” 

You turned around to look at him, and he was shaking like a leaf, his teeth chattering violently. God how your heart throbbed. 

“Yes.” Leaving the blanket hanging over the couch, you padded down the hallway to your bedroom where you dug through your closet for the box of his clothing. Finding a pair of sweatpants and an old flannel, you brought them back out to him. He ducked into the bathroom to change, a choice that hurt more than you would ever admit. Privacy he had never needed was now necessary. 

Once he was changed you took his clothing and threw it into the dryer, starting it up. Hot chocolate, you insisted he eat a sandwich. He agreed with distaste and leaned against the counter while you made it, throwing together random ingredients and hoping it would taste alright. He ended up wolfing it down at warp speed, and it was hard not to smile. It was a broken smile, a weak attempt and hollow happiness. 

“Thank you,” Timmy sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. 

“You’re welcome.” You sat down on a chair in the dining room, quite a distance away from him. He watched you blankly.

“Why are you over there?” You could tell by his tone that he really didn’t want to know. 

“Because I can’t risk touching you.” 

“That’s fair.” 

You waited. He looked pained, struggling inside. It hurt that you couldn’t help him, every ounce of your being wanting desperately to run across the room and climb into his lap. 

“I’m here because I owe you something and I need to fix this.” 

You frowned. “Tim...”

He stood suddenly, making his way across the room to be closer. Your breathing accelerated, your back tensing, heart sprinting. 

“I promise I won’t touch you.”

“I can’t promise I won’t.” 

He smiled and it reached his eyes, and your damaged heart cracked loudly beneath the bandages. “I knew you hadn’t given up on me.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me to leave.” 

You hesitated, your eyes darting briefly to the door. “Timmy this isn’t fair I can’t think when you’re this close to me.” 

He stood immediately and backed away, hands in the air. His hair was in his face, and he pushed it back with annoyance. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You know I would never tell you to leave.” 

“That tells me that there’s a chance.” 

“A... what?” Oh please, please don’t give me hope. 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and mumbling to himself. You watched him expectantly, swallowing hard. 

“I gave up.” Timothée opened his eyes, staring into yours. “I gave up and I ran away. I fucked up, this is my mistake and I own that. But I’m not saying sorry anymore. Not because I’m not sorry, you know that I am. But guess what? I love you. I can’t stop, I have tried. It’s like trying to move a brick wall. So here I am.”

You were speechless, your mouth agape. He took a small step forward, testing the waters. When you didn’t say anything he took another, then another, one more until he was kneeling in front of you with both of your hands in his, fire in your veins, you had thought you’d never be able to touch him again. 

“You can tell me no. You can tell me to go fuck myself, because I was a dick. But please.” He closed his eyes. “I’m asking for a chance to start over. I cannot undo what has been done, but we can heal.” Opening his eyes now, they bored into yours, your broken pieces suddenly drawing towards one another again like magnets. “Together.” 

The words washed over you gently, as if you had finally come ashore and found refuge. He looked terrified and eager, unsure and positive. You exhaled slowly, trying not to get overexcited, wanting to do it right.

“I need time.” 

His face lit up, the boy couldn’t help himself. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.” 

You hesitated, reaching out slowly to touch his face. He sighed loudly and leaned into your hand, kissing one of your fingers tenderly. The temptation to say fuck it and jump his bones was overwhelming, all consuming. You stayed that way for a moment, the both of you inhaling the touch with every sense and appreciating its meaning. He finally turned to kiss your palm again, sighing. The exhale of breath on your skin made your insides tingle with warmth, a feeling that had been long been dormant. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” 

“Hearing me out and not slamming the door in my face.” 

You wrinkled up your nose, smiling fondly at him. “I thought about it.” 

“I would have deserved it.” 

“I know.” You allowed a quiet giggle, and he beamed, a sight so beautiful you almost cried. 

“We can do this.”

You bit your lip, fighting an urge to kiss him, take it slowly, ease in, you’ll get there. “Do you really believe that?” 

He nodded earnestly, wrapping an arm around your leg and leaning against you. “I believe in us.” 

“I think I do too.”

“So how about this,” he said, clearing his throat. “The ball is in your court now. You take the time you need, and when you’re ready, I’d like to take you out on a proper date.” 

Your heart swelled, butterflies coming to life again, flowers blooming, birds singing. “I’d like that very much.”


	3. chicken scampi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a first date with Timothée after everything that happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr same username xx

You leaned forward over the vanity and used your thumb to brush a small bit of red lipstick away from the side of your lip, dabbing a bit more color on before rubbing your lips together and making a kissy face in the mirror. A spray of perfume to the inside of your wrists and a necklace he had given you long ago. You slid heels on and pulled a heavy sweatshirt over your blouse, tugging the hood up to protect your hair from the spring showers.

New York was blossoming with beauty, color spreading through Central Park. You made your way through throngs of people, ducking under cameras and weaving between businessmen to find a cab. You prayed no one would recognize you going into his place. Having been together for several years before the breakup, people knew you now, they knew your face. You hailed the next taxi you saw and climbed into the back, giving the driver his address and leaning back against the seat. Pulling your phone out, you sent Tim a text.

On the way. x

See you soon. x

You smiled at the little kiss you had received in return, thinking back to your actual first date and how nervous you had been. You were nervous now, but it was a safer nervous, the fear of the unknown no longer on your back. You knew what you wanted, and you knew what he wanted. You had given yourself plenty of time and space, and you wanted to move forward with him. He was ecstatic, inviting you eagerly over for dinner.

When the car stopped at the curb, you paid quickly and hopped out, hurrying with your hood up and head down into his building and greeting the doorman quietly. He smiled at your return and held the door open for you, nodding. You thanked him and ran to the elevators, taking one to the tenth floor and exiting when it dinged.

Knock knock.

He swung open the door, dressed in black head to toe and looking oh so fine. His hair hung around his face as usual, though it looked a bit straighter tonight. His shoes were shining, his eyes were glowing, and he was smiling like you hadn’t seen him smile in a very long time.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

“Hi,” you giggled, walking past him as he shut the door. “It smells really good in here.”

“I made chicken scampi, I hope that’s alright.” He shut the door behind you and ran his fingers through his hair nervously, locking the door.

“Oohh, a fancy personal chef? Do you give every girl this special treatment?”

He beamed, sliding a hand around your waist and pulling you close. “Only you.”

“Only me?”

He nodded, watching you with green eyes that somehow shimmered with golden warmth. You hadn’t kissed him in so long, and the urge was almost painful.

Slow. Or so you thought.

You kissed him on the cheek and moved aside to pull your sweatshirt off, straightening your shirt and hair. He moved into the living room, lightly brushing your cheek with one finger as he went. Your face flushed, a shock spreading through your system. Butterflies, so bright and colorful and vivid.

“I was playing the piano,” he said, sitting back down at the bench and messing with the keys. “I was thinking about trying to write some music, but I don’t really have free time.”

You sat down next to him and leaned your head on his shoulder, pressing random notes and closing your eyes to listen to the music. He rested his head on yours and played a soft, smooth melody that was pleasing to the ear. You hummed along and sat silently with him for several minutes, inhaling the moment, enjoying it with every sense. After another moment he kissed your head and stood.

“I’m gonna check on dinner,” he mumbled, another kiss to your forehead.

“Okay, love.”

He paused, his face lighting up as he digested the word. You smiled and squeezed his hand, watching him when he went into the kitchen.

“It’s just about done if you want to have some wine,” he called, stirring a frying pan at the stove. A bowl of cooked pasta was sitting next to him on the counter, steam spilling into the air.

Walking into the familiar kitchen, you kissed his neck lightly, unable to help yourself. He whined and wiggled, giggling. There was no way you were going to leave this apartment without a solid smooching session.

“Thank you.”

“Pour me a glass and we’ll let this simmer.” He replied, washing his hands. You poured two generous helpings of wine and made your way into his living room to plop onto the comfortable couch. You always ate there together, and it was so strange to be sitting with him again. But very, very good.

“How are you?” Timmy asked, sitting next to you, your thighs touching.

“Nervous, but good.”

He took one of your hands and kissed it, smiling. “Me too.”

Stop making me look at your mouth.

“It’s a good nervous. Like… I’m not afraid of you hurting me anymore. I have this renewed belief in us, I’ve thought about it so much, and I think starting like this is going to really help.”

He watched your lips as you spoke, soaking in every word. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do.

“You have no idea how happy you make me.”

You watched him, biting your lip. His eyes darted there again, and he exhaled heavily.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Hesitating, you held his gaze, releasing your lip from your teeth. “Should we just do it?”

A small smirk, he reached out to hold your chin between two fingers. You felt your breathing speed up, is he going to do it, what is he going to do?

“I want you to be ready to kiss me.”

His breath was feathery against your lips, and you sighed longingly, leaning closer. All rational thought was gone, all sanity, all knowledge of the outside world and everything in it. All that mattered was Timothée, his eyes, his mouth, the way he was looking at you like he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to kiss you.

What was there to be ready for? You couldn’t remember. Leaning closer, the sizzling of the food in your ears, the smell of him surrounding you, you placed a very soft kiss to his lips, closing your eyes and putting your hand on his face. He slid one hand slowly up your thigh, pressing closer and applying more pressure to your mouth. You stayed still for a few seconds, breathing each other in before beginning to move. He kissed you slowly, so very slowly, his movements tentative and curious and full of desire. The other hand encircled your waist to tug you closer, and you sighed lightly against his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” he groaned, kissing you a little harder.

“Don’t do what?” You pulled back.

“Make those little noises of yours. I’ll lose it.”

You giggled, shook your head and kissed him again, forcefully and with purpose this time. He kissed you back eagerly, squeezing your eyes and daring you with his lips to take it further. You groaned, unable to hold it back, and slipped your tongue slowly into his mouth. He was suddenly on top of you, pushing you onto your back and moaning your name into the kiss. Your hands tangled into his hair, and you lifted your waist up to his, drowning in him, every sense and memory clashing together violently inside your head and heart. Fuck you really had no idea how much you had missed him…

“Tell me when to stop, please, I can’t make myself,” he mumbled, kissing you with such passion that it was messy. You were breathless and gasping for air, dizzy with love. Nodding, you spread your legs without thinking, one dropping off the side of the couch. His hand moved slowly down your side, onto your hip where it hooked into your belt loop. Making out like crazy, you were both sweating and moaning as his hand cautiously moved to your stomach. It was full speed ahead now, there was no going back, and you didn’t want to. Nothing else mattered, nothing but Timmy.

“Take my pants off, take them off,” you insisted, shoving at them fruitlessly. He sat up and pulled at them until they left your legs, crawling back on top of you and kissing you again.

“Are you su-“

You nodded and kissed him harder to shut him up, taking his hand and shoving it down your panties. He gasped into your mouth and gently began to massage your sex with two fingers, his tongue and mouth desperate for more. You cried out his name and let your head fall back, loudly begging him for more. Small circles, he was slow and deliberate, pushing your slit open and sliding a finger along your clit.

“God you’re wet,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck and moving his fingers roughly side to side, creating hot friction and intense pleasure. You arched your back and cried out again, a long, drawn-out sound that echoed off the walls.

“Timothée!”

He chewed a hickey into your neck and growled, moving his hand faster. It was happening so fast, the perfect angle, he was making you sing.

“Come for me baby girl…” His voice was soft and encouraging in your ear, his breathing labored with the effort of his arm. You came almost instantly, your hips bucking into the air and your eyes rolling back into your head. No sound came out, twitching muscles, pleasure streaking up and down your spine. He was heavy on your body, a crushing weight that gave your lungs exactly the amount of air needed to survive. Because you needed him to survive. And it was more clear than ever.

As the feeling dwindled and your high ebbed, you sat up slowly, laughing quietly to yourself when you saw your pants thrown on the floor.

“I guess we got um.. into it.”

He chuckled and brushed your hair to the side, kissing your neck gently. “I guess so.”

“Do you want to check on dinner?”

“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing himself from the couch into the kitchen.


End file.
